If You Leave Me Now
by ClappingForTinkerbell
Summary: A savior in the form of a chauvinistic pig...exactly what a budding ingenue like Rachel Berry needed. But what if it was all a rouse? And what would it take to make it real? A Puckleberry fic. A/U
1. A Certain Stranger

**A/N: **Hi Everyone, After being so entertained reading such fantastic fanfic based on the most AWESOME TV show on the airwaves, I thought I could let my imagination have at it, and try my hand at some fanfic as well. This story has Puckleberry all over it ;) It's also A/U. Hope you enjoy...I have an vague idea of where this is going, but any opinions, critique would be most welcome.

**Disclaimer: **Glee, not mine...if it was, I would quit my day job. Oh, and the title of the fic is based on the song "If You Leave Me Now" by Chicago.

"Save me!" she looked at him, her deep brown eyes pleading, "I'm begging you!"

"Look, babe, I..."

"Please! My sanity is at stake." Her eyes widened, a scary sort of determination being forged in them, "believe me mister, you _do not _want to see me go crazy."

Damn, she looked intense. He gulped in spite of himself, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I don't wanna see that."

"So...will you?" she pressed, "Because you have approximately five seconds to decide..four...three...two..."

He gave her a quick once over and concluded that despite her midget-like height (well...compared to his height), she was smokin'. He shrugged with a practiced nonchalance that only enhanced his bad ass exterior, "What the hell?"

She breathed a sigh of relief, then grabbed his hand possessively as she whirled her body away from the bar to face the dance floor, forcing him to turn around abruptly as well. A flash went off, momentarily blinding him.

"The fuck!" he protested, using his arm as a shield to block the assault of light from another candid snapshot.

"So this is him?" a man with a frizzy brown fro, dark rimmed square glasses, long nose and bad teeth demanded in a nasally voice.

"You actually have the nerve to doubt me?" she gasped with indignation, "I assure you Mr. Ben Isreal, that when I informed you earlier about very serious, albeit clandestine relationship, it wasn't merely a ploy to stop you from sending flowers to my house and leaving messages of you singing "Let's Get It On" quite badly and off tune I might add, to my personal answering machine," she gave him a quizzical glance, "How do you even know my phone number? I've had it changed three times!"

The girl's stalker looked about ready to respond to her query with some creepy technical mumbo-jumbo, but she interrupted him before he finished inhaling, "That was a rhetorical question by the way. I'm not interested in an explanation that will only give me further justification for carrying big purses that hold multiple containers of mace. Oh...and being involved with men who are in posession of seriously toned biceps," she added as an afterthought, smiling towards the handsome stranger beside her. His brow raised as he gave her the _you know it _look. She couldn't for the life of her understand why her cheeks flushed from that one glance but eventually determined that the entire club had suddenly and instantaneously gotten warmer. She made a mental note to inform the manager of the establishment.

"He doesn't look so tough," Fro-man countered with a distinct quiver in his voice. "I mean, he's got one arm in a sling," he pointed out, all the while taking a cautious step back from the couple.

The girl's expression looked confused, and slowly she carefully assessed her, er..._boyfriend_? She wondered at how she could have missed the fact that the man she'd picked for this little adventure had a maimed limb?

Puck resisted the urge to chuckle out loud. Clearly she'd been too preoccupied by his studliness to consider little details like his obviously broken arm. Who could blame her? He was one fine looking specimen.

Fro-man was openly waiting for the girl to answer, and since she was still too busy oggling his own hot ass, Puck decided to take matters into his own hands. "Look dude, if you're questioning my ability to pound your face into a pulp with my one good arm, I suggest we take this outside,"

With a shaky, nasal, pre-pubesant whine, Fro-man said, "I was merely speculating on how someone like you would sustain an injury like that. Perhaps a motor vehicle accident? Running into a pole while intoxicated?"

"Dude, are you serious? I _earned _this. I was in a fight so epic, it's out on YouTube."

"But your arm's broken," Fro pointed out flatly.

"Yeah? You should see the other guy," Puck grinned devilishly.

The hot brunette entered into the conversation with a disapproving frown, "Darling," she began emphatically, "We both know that I would never willingly enter into a relationship with a man who condoned violence. In fact, we've had multiple discussions about the benefits of civil, verbal exchanges as the _proper_ means to settling disputes."

"Babe, you know I was only agreeing with you so you'd let me touch your boobs." She gasped with righteous indignation. "You how much I_ love _getting physical. When it comes to _that_, baby, you _know_ I'm number one...and I'm kick-ass at fighting too."

She glared at him, forgetting about the inquisitive audience they had in a certain Jacob Ben Isreal, full time creeper and part time freelance journalist (gossip monger) for his personal blog and The New York Daily.

"Your neanderthal tendencies aren't at all charming."

"Babe, that's not what you said last night,"

"Ugh!" she scoffed in disgust, "I must have momentarilly lost my mind when I thought you were attractive."

"It's the guns, chicks go hot for them."

"Oh really?" she shot back, "_Chicks_," she spit out, "Go hot for the _uni_-gun? The other one doesn't seem to be working at full capacity right now."

"Baby, you know it!" He flexed his good arm, showing off the toned muscle straining against his rolled up polo shirt. Puck shot a meaningful glance towards Jacob who'd taken out his pad and was hastilly scribbling notes down. "They were both fully functional when we first met right?" he ad libbed, "I mean, that's why we're in this relationship...or whatever..." he trailed off, realizing quickly that if this charade had any chance in hell of working, that he ought to steer cleer of topics that turned his dick into a vagina. "and that we have kick-ass fuck sessions," he added for good measure.

It was the crass comment that made her suddenly recollect her surroundings, she took a deep breath in, "Darling," she gritted her teeth, "perhaps it would be better if we discussed our personal differences and activities in a less public forum."

"You're the one arguing babe. I'm just sitting here fantasizing about the make-up sex we're gonna have tonight."

Her mouth opened and closed comically like a fish for a few seconds before she got her voice back. "It's _Rachel_. Not babe or baby or any other derivative of a word that I personally find demeaning when used in that particular context. I have never, ever encountered a more infuriating person. And trust me when I tell you that there will be no make-up sex tonight." With that, she attempted to storm away.

She heard him call after her in a voice that carried well over the crowd, "How 'bout tomorrow night?"

Her eyes narrowed to slits. Not one to let the other get the last word in, she turned on her heel and gave him a wicked smile, "But we're headed to Ohio tomorrow _baby_, to meet my family. How could you forget? And as liberal as my two gay dads are, my room's not sound proof. Even _they_ would object to the sound of a man's voice yelling in the middle of the night about how accomplished a lover their daughter is."

Jacob's mouth flung open in shock. Even Rachel was surprised at herself for uttering her less than lady-like retort...but to be fair, there was something about the man's cockiness that pushed all her buttons. She put her hands on her hips and dared him to counter _that._

"Well hell," Puck grinned...Well hell indeed.


	2. You're Gonna Break My Stride

**A/N: **Unexpected repercussions that Rachel has to face...

**Disclaimer:** Sometimes I wish I were Rachel Berry...but even then I still wouldn't own Glee, would I? As mentioned in the chapter, the song "Break My Stride" is sung by Matthew Wilder, and the title of the chapter comes from that as well :)

Matthew Wilder boomed through her alarm clock. _Ain't nothing gonna break my stride. No body gonna slow me down. Oh no! I've got to keep on moving! _Darting out of a bundle of blankets and pillows was Rachel's hand, groping for the snooze button. She groaned. It couldn't be time to get up yet could it? What was wrong with her? On a typical day, she would wake up well rested and ready for the challenges she would inevitably overcome. It was part of a pre-planned sleep/wake regime that always, always worked...except..._oh no_! In horror, she jolted upright in bed as she began to remember details from the night before...

She'd made it to her apartment just after 3 am, sober(ish) from the _disaster _that was the cast after-party. She was starring in a new Broadway production called "Anger! A Love Story in Reverse," and they were out to celebrate its successful debut. She'd had (more than) a few drinks (not at all because her on/off fiancee had failed to come to one of her opening nights...again) and that heinously annoying Jacob Ben Israel had been there, violating her personal space...again. So maybe her thought processes and reasoning skills weren't exactly sound when she looked around the crowded club, spotted the most gorgeous man at the bar and practically begged him to be her fake boyfriend. Could she have been more pathetic? (no...probably not, but given the situation, it seemed like a reasonable request at the time) And how could such a male chauvinistic pig survive in the world of the modern woman? (in-spite of the fact that she, (a self proclaimed "modern woman") secretly found his overt boorishness more than slightly attractive.)

Mentally berating herself, Rachel ran a hand through her thick mass of dark brown hair, frowning in frustration as she struggled through the knots. She couldn't (wouldn't) look at herself in the mirror until after she took a long, warm, cleansing shower to wash away the literal and metaphysical grime from the night before. Sighing softly to herself as she climbed out of bed, a vague thought entered her mind...she never did catch his name.

**(Glee!)**

"Noah Puckerman!"

"Pardon me? I don't think I understand."

"Noah Puckerman, Rachel. Who is he?"

"Uh..." Rachel was drawing a blank. "Daddy, I'm sorry. I have no idea who you're talking about. Look," she started afresh softly as she switched her phone from the right to her left ear, "I know you're upset that I have to delay my visit home, but it's only for a week. There were a few last minute matinees added that I can't get out of. Well, that I don't exactly _want_ to get out of..."

"Rachel,"

"You should hear my understudy Daddy. She has no concept of the delicacies that constitute sustaining a high "F". Her vibrato is completely off base and...and..." she sputtered, "those are _my_ solos. I can't have her _butcher_ them just because I couldn't wait another week before taking a vacation. We _did_ just start and..."

"Why are you dodging the question Rachel?" her father asked, effectively ending what was sure to be a prolonged rant.

"Wh...which question was that?"

"The question where I ask my daughter what she's doing with an injured night club owner possessing questionable morals and a lascivious leer, which, as per the New York Daily, in a colored photograph on page 27, is aimed at you..."

Unbeknownst to her father on the other side of the connection, Rachel's eyes had widened to the size of saucers, and her face had turned ruby red. The hunk had a name. It was Noah Puckerman. Now that name was connected with hers. In a newspaper. That people could buy...and read. And there were pictures. On page 27. Oh dear god...

Her father's "I'm very disappointed in the current choices you've made..." spiel didn't show any signs of ending soon, so while he droned on, she opened the door to her apartment and picked up her own copy of the daily news.

"...and what's worse is that you never even bothered to pick up the telephone and call your dad or I to let us know that you were having some sort of bad-boy crisis. Honey, I know from experience that a man with muscles that large are overcompensating for something else that's lacking..."

She flipped to page 27, and there they were. She had to admit, he was incredibly tantalizing looking with his deep, expressive eyes. And at least the picture had been taken from her good side. The headline read, "Broadway's Queen B with Brooklyn's Finest Son of a B." One of the hottest stars to walk the Great White Way, Rachel Berry was spotted at _Sweet Caroline's_with the club's owner Noah "Puck" Puckerman last night. Miss Berry states that the relationship is serious. No comment was made on how Mr. Puckerman sustained the injuries leading to his broken arm. Employees at the club state that Mr. Puckerman is a notorious womanizer, and many speculate that this vice may have led to the root of the injury. Bystanders report that towards the end of the night Miss Berry appeared angry with Puckerman, going as far as verbally abusing him. Puckerman reports that his biceps play a huge factor in the continued success of their relationship. Perhaps with one out of commission, all is not well in paradise. Despite this, the couple still plan to vacation to Ohio, Miss Berry's home state to visit her fathers.

"...and of course you're going to have to bring him to Lima to meet your Dad and I. If it's a serious as you say, then we're obliged to meet him,"

Rachel snapped into attention and slammed the paper down on her lap...hard. This day could not get any worse.

"Rachel, honey," her Daddy now held a soft tone to his voice, indicating that he was almost through trying to state his case, "Did you even once stop to consider other people's feelings?"

Rachel gulped.

"Does Finn know?"

She was wrong. The day was now, officially worse.

**(Glee!)**

"It's an emergency Kurt! It's to the point where I'm considering bleaching my hair blond, getting a spray-on tan and moving to California! Do you think anyone would notice if I decided to curl up into a ball and die?"

Her best friend, fashionista and budding designer Kurt Hummel didn't even bother to take a breath. He knew she wasn't nearly done yet.

"Not a literal death...just a figurative one," she amended, "where I change my identity so I have a reasonable excuse to turn away from the impending disaster."

He waited a few seconds to make sure she was finished. He hated nothing more than being interrupted himself, especially if he was about to state a poignant fact. (He _always_had a poignant fact to make.) "Look B, this isn't a bad thing...well, not as bad as you think. That's the problem, my overly dramatic diva, you're not thinking straight."

Rachel moaned, and glanced down at her garden salad, appetite continuing to fail her as it had since her Daddy's phone call earlier that day. "Where in this scenario is there _not_ a disaster?"

Kurt gave Rachel a pitying look, which under normal circumstances would have infuriated her. Instead, she felt as though she had someone to commiserate with her at last. He held his fork in the air, using it to accentuate his next point. "Rachel, I know you've been a misfit all your life..."

"Wa...wait a second!" she protested.

"And because of this, you've never really gotten a chance to understand one of life's simple concepts... that all publicity is good publicity."

"I have not been a misfit all my life!" she reaffirmed, "I'll have you know that I was a member of all the clubs at school, was captain of the Glee club and..."

"Misfit," Kurt interjected in a sing-song voice.

Rachel sighed, "You may have a point," she conceded. "So what do you propose I do?"

"You want your play to be a smash hit, don't you?"

"Of course,"

"And you're still panting over, and sickeningly obsessed with..."

She gave him a dirty look

"...and you're still ga-ga _in love_," he amended, "with your hunky sort-of fiancee Finn."

"Obviously."

"You're still planning to go to Ohio on Monday."

"My fathers will kill me if I don't."

"So go."

Rachel looked at Kurt expectantly, waiting for the ball to drop. His soft, effeminate face looked almost angelic, half hidden under a fedora to shield him from the brightness of the mid-day sun. Rachel knew better. Kurt Hummel was no angel. He raised a brow and waved his hands toward her in benediction, "Go to Ohio and milk cows, or whatever it is you Midwesterners do for fun," he paused, "Just be sure to take the sex-god with you."

"Finn?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "No. Puck."


	3. Sweet Caroline

**A/N:**Thank you so much for the very kind reviews for this story. They've really encouraged me to keep on going with this fic, and see what mischief Rachel and Puck inadvertently get themselves into...and bear with me guys...it's dialogue galore.

**Disclaimer:**Don't own Glee or its fantabulous characters. Neither am I associated with the wonderful musical West Side Story. Sweet Caroline, of course is not mine, and stems from the wonderful episode "Mash-Up" in which our handsome hero sings that very song. Originally sang by Neil Diamond (a Jewish Icon ;) It's meant to be ironic...caus in my head, Puck's mom is anything but sweet.

"Son of a B!" Caroline Puckerman screeched loudly. "The nerve of that..." she paused for a moment to look at the newspaper to see the author's name, "J. B. Israel! And he's Jewish too! That little trouble maker had better not show his face at temple! I'll show him, son of a B!"

"Ma," Puck protested, successfully imagining a livid Caroline Puckerman going after Fro-Boy, her purse waving wildly in the air while she was in hot pursuit. He grimaced.

"Don't you dare look at me with that expression Noah Puckerman, unless you want a smack to the disrespectful side of your face."

"So there's a side of my face that isn't disrespectful?" Puck muttered under his breath.

"I heard that."

"I'm sorry," he replied, automatically, sounding very much like a remorseful child and not at all like the bad ass he was...whatever...it was his mother. She was like the kryptonite to his Superman. And no one, _no one _could give a sound tongue lashing like Caroline Puckerman. He dared anyone to try.

"So this Rachel Berry, she's..."

"Just some chick Ma, just someone I met,"

"And how do you explain the fact that she seems to think the relationship is serious? I raised you better than that Noah. You should be ashamed of yourself, leading a poor girl on. Have you seen her nose? That's a _Jewish_ nose, Noah. How could you play around with the heart of a pretty _Jewish_ girl?"

"What if she isn't Jewish?" he threw in, just to be difficult.

"You're dating a Gentile!" Caroline cried in horror, "Please don't tell me this is a repeat of the Quinn Fabray fiasco, because so help me Noah, if it is..."

"Geez, hold up woman!" Puck held up his hands in defense before she whacked him with her purse, "It's nothing like that. I swear!" That seemed to subdue his mother momentarily as he wracked his brain to think of how to explain the situation to her without biting his head off...not to mention how in the hell he was supposed to explain this to Quinn. He was supposedly trying to show her his ability to be responsible...to magically transform into an upstanding citizen or some shit... He seriously didn't have time to deal with this bull right now. How was he supposed to know that there'd be consequences for the little show he'd put on last night? That's what he got for trying to be a knight in shining armor or whatever...damn it, he thought ruefully, he didn't even like horses. But asses...his brow perked as he caught a glimpse of a pert little one through the window of the door leading from the back room to the dance floor...asses he liked.

"Excuse me Ma, there's someone out there I totally need to meet," he pushed the door open, leaving his mother with a suspicious look on her face, silently seething.

Chuckling to himself, Puck thought _that _was how you made a swift exit without being kneed in the balls.

**(Glee!)**

"Can I help you with something?" he greeted, his eyes never swaying from the delicious derriere. Hot-ass turned around slowly, the lithe curves of her body moving gracefully, and he...fuckin'-a! Someone upstairs hated him today...like really _hated_ him.

She inhaled, opening her sexy little mouth in surprise as she saw and recognized him. Her eyes blinked a few times, the way girls did when they were trying to flirt. He knew what _that_ was all about. She on the other hand just seemed genuinely caught off guard. Whatever...it was his club. She was obviously seeking him out. Probably to apologize for the crap she was putting him through. He knew it wasn't fair, but he inwardly cursed her smokin' bod, and her shitty timing.

"Noah?" she asked, her voice breathy and unsure. He cursed her sexy voice too.

There was a sharp gasp from behind him, "She calls you Noah," he heard his mother observe, with a freaky tone to her voice, like what she wanted to say was "awww...isn't that sweet?"

He visibly stiffened. This. was. not. happening.

"Mrs. Puckerman?" Rachel asked tentatively as she looked beyond him.

"Yes dear?"

Caroline's smile in response was all she needed. Suddenly Rachel's face went from kittenish to self-confident and determined. She marched past him and held out her hand to his mother. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Rachel, Rachel Berry. I know you must be wondering why I'm here..."

"My god, you're..." she looked stunned, and quite possibly a little star struck, "I saw you in West Side Story two years ago. You played Maria. You were fantastic!" the elder Puckerman enthused.

Rachel beamed. "Yes, well, the critics did say that I had the impeccable ability to dive into a role with gusto," she smiled, and then spoke as if directly quoting a review, "and despite the iconic portrayal of Maria by Natalie Wood, Rachel Berry has immortalized "I Feel Pretty," revamping it as the theme song for the modern woman."

Puck snickered, "But you're not vain, or like, full of yourself or anything..."

Rachel looked at him innocently, "No. I'm proud of my many accomplishment and have no problem discussing them at length."

"Noah, you should be proud of your girlfriend," his mother scolded him, effectively defending her. _His_ mother...defended _her_.

"Of course I'm proud of her," he amended, not one to argue with two crazy chicks, "She's a hot babe,"

"And talented," Caroline added, "How did a little punk like you end up with such a classy woman?" she asked with genuine amazement.

Rachel frowned (...cutely? Shit, he was turning into a pansy with all the estrogen floating around him), "Well that's not a fair statement Mrs. Puckerman. I'll have you know that I met Noah during a very vulnerable time in my life, and your son was not only amenable to defending me, he played his part so well that I couldn't help but find myself drawn to his heroic gesture."

"You took advantage of her?" Caroline demanded, immediately irate, "How could you take advantage of a pretty, vulnerable Jewish girl?" She glared at her son.

"What?" Puck looked horrified, "No! I totally didn't..."

"Mrs. Puckerman," Rachel snapped, "That is not at all what I meant," she sighed, "You should give your son the credit that he's due. While brash in nature, Noah has a caring heart which I have witnessed first hand. As flattering as it is that you find me talented and classy, you shouldn't be surprised that I was drawn to your son who has a host of attributes under his belt."

Puck refrained from naming one of the attributes under his belt, because he was fascinated at the sight of Rachel Berry in amazonian glory telling off his mother while simultaneously defending him...and that attribute, as inappropriate a time as it was, was beginning to get mighty uncomfortable under his belt...and Rachel still wasn't done.

"I'm lucky to have him in my life, and proud..." she faltered slightly as she looked meaningfully in his direction, "proud that the article in the New York Daily, while admittedly unsavory in its reveal, has finally given us cause to talk about our relationship openly."

Puck gulped. His mother's gaze seemed unconvinced at her declaration. "So this relationship between you and my son _is_ serious."

Rachel looked at Puck again before responding, "Yes, it is."

"So he's told you about his daughter?"

Shit. He was so in trouble. He could see the whole charade slowly unravelling in front of him. But...nothing happened. Unnervingly, her face remained perfectly calm and composed, "He's spoken about Beth, yes," she responded.

The fuck! Puck thought.

"He talks about her all the time," she continued evenly, "He hasn't taken me to meet her yet, naturally. You have to understand Mrs. Puckerman, that although his reputation as a womanizer precedes him, he would never, ever put his daughter in an emotionally compromising situation. He talks about her, but won't let me see her until he's certain we're fully committed to each other."

"So are you? Fully committed to each other?" Caroline Puckerman looked at both of them with shrewd, all knowing eyes.

Expectantly, Rachel looked up at Puck's expressionless face, wishing profoundly that she had the power of telepathy...'_Come on!'_ she wanted to scream, 'Just say 'yes.' Yes, yes yes!' she chanted.

"Hell yeah we are," Puck stated, roughly bringing her towards him, his arm around her shoulders.

'Well," Rachel thought, 'I suppose that works too..."

**(Glee!)**

Puck's mother had left shortly after with a promise of front row tickets to Rachel's musical, and visions of chubby Jewish grandchildren dancing in her head. The two stood in silence for a moment, Puck leaning against the bar, Rachel beside him, unknowingly mimicking their places from the night before. He shook his head, "You were the shit babe. Seriously. I thought I was gonna take a dump in my pants when I realized my mom had seen you."

Rachel snorted (in a lady-like manner), "I can handle parents. They love me."

"The fuck they do..." because try as Quinn might, Puck reflected, there was still no way in hell Caroline Puckerman was going to warm up to her, grand-baby mama or no, "and how in the hell did you know about my daughter?" he continued, "You're not stalking me or something are you?" ...not that Puck was scared of a midget stalker, but since she seemed to know something about his daughter, that shit wasn't kosher.

She gave him _a look_. "No, I'm not stalking you. Please. Don't flatter yourself. I got a call from one of my very distraught fathers this morning. Dad was at a conference, and Daddy had a day off so he had _a lot of time _to discuss some distressing news that he received in the form of a certain page 27 in the New York Daily. Obviously I had to seek out assistance from an unbiased third party...and while I wasn't able to get that, I was able to obtain advice from Kurt."

"Riiigggght," he stretched his words, "Kurt."

"My best friend," Rachel stated, as though this were all the explanation he would need with respect to that topic. "He convinced me that the only possible way to ease out of this little charade of ours was to play it through. I mean, you have to admit, it would be really embarrassing to have to explain the whole fiasco to, well...the whole world."

He nodded in agreement. Hadn't her little acting stint just saved him from his mother's wrath? "Alright fine, so we pretend like _this_," he moved his index finger in a circle, gesturing towards the both of them, "is totally legit."

"And you come to Ohio with me."

"What?" he protested, "Hell no!"

"It'll only be for a week...week and a half max. My dads are great...and...and I'll pay for the airfare...and food and..."

"Will we get to make out?" he asked dead pan.

She was aghast, "No! Absolutely not!"

He shrugged, "Then I'm out. What's the point in doing something if there's no chance at my getting to second base?"

"You're not actually serious?...are you?"

He shrugged in nonchalance again, "I dunno..."

"Wait!" she looked as though a brilliant thought entered her head, "I have a sort-of fiancee that could potentially become jealous if we kissed in front of him. I'd be willing to compromise if the opportunity presented itself."

Puck grinned, "Well then consider me back in the game baby."

Rachel rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. "You're incorrigible, do you know that?"

"Baby, I have no idea what that means," he replied smugly.

"I don't understand..." she suddenly began softly, "I don't know why it was so easy to convince you to do this. I've gotten you into such a questionable situation already. I know you're a good person. You have to be. The reason why I wasn't surprised when your mom mentioned that you had a daughter...one of your employees put me into your office and told me to wait for you. You have pictures drawn with crayon framed on your walls. The autograph on the pictures go from childish scribbles to a distinct, bold hand." she turned to him, smiling, "Beth."

"Yeah, she's ah...into art. She's a smart kid," his voice was gruff with emotion he was uncomfortable expressing.

"There was a picture on your desk. She looks like you. She has your coloring, your hazel eyes...that devil may care grin. That's how I knew she was yours."

"Her mom thinks I'm a loser," Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her, "I've been trying to convince her that I'm not, well, not the _total_ douche people say I am, but...well...considering the fact that she _is_ my baby mama, I think it's safe to say she's witnessed my bad reputation in action first hand." She nodded, encouraging him to go on. "So ah...maybe if she sees that I can be with someone who isn't a complete ho and have like a stable relationship or whatever, that she might let me spend more time with Beth." He looked down to the floor, thinking about how pathetic that sounded.

Rachel bit her lip. "...so"

"So..."

"This is crazy...like I think I need to book emergency sessions with my therapist, crazy."

"We're fucking nuts," Puck agreed. He looked up, "When do we leave?"


	4. Maneater

**A/N: **Hi guys...so just some Puck/Rachel bonding moments before they have to put on their big charade...

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Glee, or the song Maneater, or the very briefly mentioned movie, Snakes on a Plane. Anger! A Love Story in Reverse, however is mine, and I wish I knew enough about music, and script writing, because I think the concept's pretty darned interesting.

Puck chuckled to himself as he heard his phone ring..._Whoa here she comes, watch out boy, she'll chew you up. Whoa here she comes. She's a maneater!_ _Here she comes! Watching and waiting! She's a maneater! Watch out!_

Before answering he regained his composure (and waited until the 30 seconds of music played through...that shit was pretty funny). Cool and collected, he greeted her with a causal, "S'up Berry?"

He waited a beat...then two, before he heard her burst of indignation on the other end, "You haven't changed the ringtone!" she accused, "You promised Noah!"

In his mind's eye, he could see her stomping her tiny little foot in frustration and grinned at the thought. The last few days had kept him in close contact with Rachel...not as close as he'd like to be obviously...that chick was smokin' and he was a stud...(how she was resisting the good-ole Puckerone charm, he was curious to know)...but close enough for him to clearly picture her punk-ass crazy mannerisms. The way she bit her bottom lip when she was nervous (that was pretty damn sexy), or the way she would put her hands to her hips when she was pissed and knew he wasn't really listening to her (the girl loved the sound of her own voice...like, a lot. So what if he fell asleep once when she was ranting on and on about some less-talented understudy...the woman had to understand that he worked late nights...and okay, so her voice was sorta annoying, but once you heard it enough it was kind of like those machines that played the sounds of waterfalls and rain hitting roof tops and shit...it started to sound soothing...whatever.), and of course, the classic school-girl stomp of frustration...that would have him laughing out loud if it wasn't for his fear of that small, well-aimed foot. What? The chick wore stilettos, and those damn things hurt! He had fucking bruises to prove it!

"You know I find that particular song immensely demeaning," she chastised.

Ignoring her comment, mostly because he knew it would rile her up, he asked, "What are you wearing?" in a lazy tone. "Is it lacy and red?"

The scary thing was, Rachel knew exactly what he meant by that question. A few days before, Puck had taken his mother to see a matinee performance of her musical. It was a vocally taxing role that really challenged her acting abilities (of which, she fortunately, had a_ huge _supply of, thanks to the acting lessons she'd been taking since she was four years old). _Anger! A Love Story in Reverse_, told the sordid tale of a couple falling in love from the moment the couple sign the papers finalizing their divorce, backwards, up until the point where the couple first met, 15 years before. The musical called for a risque scene that reenacted the first time the couple made love. Needless to say, Rachel spent a good ten minutes on stage in nothing but thin, clingy lingerie...red and lacy. Leave it to Puck to fixate on that particular scene.

She surprised him when her voice was a little breathy as she replied, "Open your door and see."

The fuck? His throat got uncomfortably dry at that, "You're...you're just,"

"Right outside your door Noah...are you going to open it any time soon? It's getting cold out here."

Thinking with his...er..appendage, he leaped out of the couch, barely giving a second glance to the beer he'd spilled on his carpet in his haste to get up. He raced down the two flights of stairs and threw open the door. There stood Rachel Berry wearing absolutely nothing lacy...nothing red even. He didn't even try to hide his disappointed expression. He noticed her eyes open freakishly wide at the sight of him.

"You didn't seriously think I was wearing nothing but lingere out here did you?" she asked aghast.

He shrugged, "Dunno..."

"That would be completely immodest and inappropriate and...um...cold?" she gulped.

What was with Crazy today? Must be hormones, or like PMS or something. "Whatever Berry," he sighed, "You coming in or what?"

"Noah..."

"What?" he snapped, more surly than intended. It was a well known fact that chicks shouldn't pull crap like that on guys...like crying wolf or whatever. It wasn't kosher.

"The next time you open the door you might want to consider um..." Her cheeks were flushed.

"Spit it out Berry, it's frickin' cold with the door open,"

She took a deep breath and straightened her stance, all 'miss prim and proper' like. "Well, the next time you open the door, it may be wise to put some clothes on first."

Puck's mouth gaped in shock. He looked down, only noticing now that she'd mentioned it.

"As enlightening as it's been for me to fully appreciate your pectoral, abdominal and bicep muscles, coming to the door wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs doesn't exactly set the right tone for receiving company. Although," she added thoughtfully, "knowing you as little as I do, and knowing of the company you keep even less, maybe it _is_ appropriate garb." _*Ouch*_ "Regardless," she continued talking as she pushed past him and entered his building, "it's really not the sort of thing we do in Lima." She shot him a look full of amusement, "I do have two gay dads."

Aw shit.

**(Glee!)**

She cooked for him. Sure, it was make of vegis and other like, organic shit, but it was also lasagne...and it tasted fucking good. "Look, just...just don't tell me it's healthy or whatever. It makes my dick shrink."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You're lucky I stopped being a vegan," she replied, "or that pasta would be made out of eggplant."

He paused, his fork half way to his mouth, "You're kidding me."

"Nope. I made it all the way through highschool...even through that rough patch when some nasty, ill-mannered cretins decided to egg me."

That piqued his interest, "Egged you huh?"

"I wasn't exactly popular in highschool," she clarified, "Now, I'm only telling you this because its something that any boyfriend of mine should know. I was very focused and set in my goals as a teenager, and though I joined every club in school to expand my horizons I was always..." she frowned, recalling Kurt's words, "a misfit. And anyway, people were threatened by my ambition and drive."

"I don't blame the poor bastards," Puck commented.

"You don't blame them?" Rachel cried, "They made my life a living hell for four years! I had the lives of 3 dozen baby chicks on my conscience after that particular incident."

"Berry you..." he tried again,"Rachel, look, I've known you for like 5 days and every time we meet I look in my underpants to make sure my 'nads are still there once you leave."

"Great, I emasculate men. No wonder you have _Maneater_as my ringtone," she sighed.

"No. Damn it, look...what I meant was, you get it. You know who you are. You know who you want to be, where you want to go. You have like these crazy high goals and you have no doubt that you'll meet them. Not everyone's like that," he shook his head in wonder, "I've never met anyone like that. So yeah, it's intimidating, and people will want to put you down because it makes them feel like they've suddenly brought themselves up. I _get _that. I didn't say it was right. I'm just saying I get it."

"I never really felt like I fit in anywhere," she admitted, "everyone hated me and thought I was a freak."

"But you didn't care."

"I tried not to." she absently played with her hair, "But sometimes...sometimes it hurt."

"But you're here. You did what you said you were gonna do, and you know what else babe?"

"No. What?"

"When you get to Lima, you can finger em all and tell them to kiss your ass, because you're Rachel Fucking Berry!"

Rachel crinkled her brow, "That's the sweetest, single most crass thing I've ever heard in my life, Noah Puckerman."

"Thanks babe," he smirked and took a huge, satisfied biteful of pasta.

"Well now that we've re-hashed all those _wonderful_ memories...it gave me an idea..."

"Can it wait until I've finished eating?" he asked, his voice too innocent for his comment _not_ to be an innuendo.

She glared at him. "I was thinking," she began again, "that we should know things about each other...like things people in a relationship should know. I thought..."

"Huge," he grinned, "Gigantic even...you had a look with the mast down baby, you can use your imagination, but I'm more than happy to give you a demonstration," he wriggled his eyebrows. "And before you ask," he continued before she could take a breath to comment, "all _I_ need to know is your bra size."

She gasped, then put her hands to her hips to reprimand him. "How is that even pertinent to maintaining the facade of a stable, permanent relationship?"

"Whatever...I can guess. You're like a what...32/34 B?" She merely glowered at him, "Come on, don't be like that baby. They're hot, but we both know the girls aren't anywhere close to filling C cups."

"Fine," she conceded, gritting her teeth, "Say your guess was right...how has that benefited you in any way?"

"Our anniversary babe. Lingerie... Or like Valentine's Day, or some other holiday a guy made up so he could get laid. I was thinking something thin, red and lacy."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste, "You're a pig Noah."

"No babe," he laughed, "just your boyfriend."

Rachel smiled. It may not have been true exactly, but it sure was nice to hear.

**(Glee!)**

"Do you have your photo ID? The boarding passes? Snacks? Water? 50 milligrams of dimenhydrinate?"

Puck gave her a _look_, "What the hell is dymenwhatthefuck?"

"It's to prevent nausea and vomiting, especially in the case of turbulence. I...I don't take turbulence very well," she admitted, "or, you know, flying in general since I caught a few minutes of Snakes on a Plane last night...you know...maybe we could go to Lima next week instead. I don't know if I've fully memorized the list of questions and answers I gave you and..."

"Berry...what's going on?" They walked towards the flight attendant and Puck handed her their boarding passes and ID.

"What do you mean?" The bland look on her face was unconvincing.

"I don't think people'll notice if I don't remember your favorite color is cerise," and Rachel had to smile at that, because it was.

"I'm...I'm just nervous I guess." Puck waited for her to elaborate. He was getting good at that. "I haven't really lied to my fathers before, and I guess my conscience is starting to nag at me to tell them the truth,"

"...which you won't...right?"

"No of course not. We've gone this far haven't we?"

"We got this Rach," he assured her, wrapping his good arm around her tiny waist as they walked through the ramp to get to their plane. "Piece of cake."

She paused for a moment, making him look into her clear, intent eyes, "Noah, you have to promise me something. You can't...you can't just leave me okay?" there was a heart wrenching vulnerability to her request, "If...if you decide that you want out, just tell me and...and we'll give you an out. But please don't...don't leave me alone with this okay? I don't know that I could deal with the repercussions of this by myself."

"Rachel, I'm not gonna leave you."

"Other people have," (My fiancee did...)

"I won't," he insisted. He willed her to trust him, to understand that he had a lot invested in this too, and fuck it all, he liked her. You didn't let people you liked down...even if they were whinny, insecure, control-freak midgets. She nodded. He wouldn't leave her. He smiled. "...unless you make me eggplant lasagna," he amended. "Then I'm out," He walked away from her, towards the plane as her mouth flung open in offense, and heard her little feet scampering to catch up to him, "Noah Puckerman! How dare you insult my cooking!"

Noah laughed out loud. This was gonna be one hell of a vacation.


	5. Killer Queen

**A/N:** Dun dun dun...a familiar character decideds to pop their head into the story. Killer Queen is a song by Queen. There's a very vague reference to it in a line that Puck says towards the end of the chapter. Also, I totally apologize for knowing NOTHING about football. If it helps, I'm Canadian and know next to zip about hockey…oh gawd…I think that was the sound of my country revoking my rights as a citizen. Let's imagine, for all intents and purposes, that the Clashers are 'like totally awesome' and everyone is madly in love with Finn…like, you know, how all adolescent Canadian girls are in love with Sidney Crosby. LOL!

**Disclaimer:** Glee's not mine :(

Rachel paled as they reached the luggage terminal, "I…I don't know if I can go through with this," she gulped. Looking at him hopefully she said, "You know it's not too late to jump on the next plane back to New York."

He looked at her for a moment and realized she was in earnest. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Puck gave an exasperated sigh, "What did we say about toning down the crazy?"

Her eyes glinted sharply at him.

"Fuck babe, you can go ahead and look pissed," he shrugged, "It's like eighty times better that you freaking out on me."

"What did we say about toning down the cursing?" she mimicked condescendingly. He stared back at her blankly. "Ugh!" she made a disgusted sound, "You're so insensitive!"

He took a sharp breath in and let it out slowly. Man, the chick had issues. He could hear her muttering her breath…something about spilling grape Slurpee on Kurt's new designs and maiming _him_ with a microphone stand. _Was that possible?_ Another glance at the enraged midget, and he figured if it was, she would make it happen. Sometimes this girl was so nuts, he literally wanted to light himself on fire. But damn it, there was something…something uniquely vulnerable about her that made him want to (uncharacteristically) go all white knight on her…or something. She was scared. She'd been hurt. He _got_ that. And yes, their plan was undoubtedly crazy, stupid, and (more than) a little desperate, but it proved once and for all that the girl had some guts too, and guts…guts Puck respected.

Once he was certain he regained some semblance of control over his admittedly quick to spark temper, he took hold of Rachel's hand, ignoring the fact that she was (futilely) pulling away from him, and rubbed the pad of his thumb soothingly against her palm. "Babe, we both have to pull our shit together if we're gonna do this right. We're gonna do this right. We'll be fine. Okay?"

"Easy for you to say," she responded churlishly, "I'm just going to be made into a laughing stock again, and fittingly, it'll be in my old home town. Creepy Jacob's going to expose us to the world and, _oh god_, Finn's going to figure it out, and realize how pathetic I am, further justifying his decision to break off our engagement...and" her eyes were starting to bug out of her head as she started coming up with more and more worst case scenarios.

"Berry…" there was a warning tone to his voice, "Seriously. Get over it," he ordered, leaving no room for debate.

"Fine," she said, standing up a bit straighter and jutting her chin out just a fraction, "We're gonna do this right, and we'll be fine," she parroted.

"Good," Puck replied, satisfied.

Suddenly, the anxious face was back as she caught something in her sights just beyond his shoulder. She nibbled at her bottom lip nervously.

"For god's sake!" Puck exclaimed, "What is it now?"

"Well…" Rachel swallowed thickly. "You said that…" she hesitated, "Actually, _I _said that…"

"Are you trying to piss me off?"

"Well-"

"Because I'm pretty sure you are," he cut her off.

"Look, you oafish brute," she began, her irritation evident, "I just wondering whether or not you were serious about kissing me in front of my ex-fiancée."

His brow rose in interest and he looked up at her just as he hoisted one (of her many) suitcases onto the trolley…because seriously…4 bags for a one week trip? What the hell did she pack in those things? He realized she was still looking at him expectantly for an answer. "Any time, any place babe," he replied with a wink.

"Good." She took in a deep, replenishing breath, "How about the airport luggage terminal?" she asked. Without giving Puck an ounce of warning, she flung herself against him, her lips warm, soft and sweet against his. She had meant it to be quick, like a drive through transaction…just obvious enough to pique Finn's interest. She hadn't expected Puck to respond to her so instantaneously…so uninhibitedly. And for a moment, not for the first time since she decided to follow through with this crazy charade, Rachel Barbara Berry knew she was way in over her head.

A hesitant cough came from behind them. "Uh, Rach?"

Puck was the first to break away and catch his breath, but not after first noticing that at the sound of the voice, Rachel had stiffened in his arms, almost guiltily. "'Sup man?" he asked casually. He instinctively nudged Rachel behind him in an unlikely show of protectiveness, and then folded his arms in front of his chest. And hell yeah, he knew he looked fucking terrifying when he stood like that. That was the whole point. Then he got a look at Rachel's _Finn._

Un_fucking_ believable. Finn Fucking Hudson, QB for the Cleveland Clashers

"Finn!" she squeaked. She pushed her way forward. Puck swore her voice went up two octaves, she sounded like a mouse caught in a trap. "What are you doing here?" she asked with exaggerated innocence.

Puck struggled to hold back a groan. Because seriously? With a performance like _that_, how did this chick ever win a Tony?

"Hey," Finn greeted, "Hi Rach," He and Puck nodded to each other in (manly) mutual acknowledgement. "I uh, screwed up my ankle during practice, so I'm back in Lima to recuperate."

Rachel frowned, "When?" she demanded flatly.

"When?"

"When did you sprain it?" she prompted.

"A couple of days ago I—"

"_Just_ a couple of days ago?" Rachel interrupted.

"Well…yeah, I—"

"Just to be clear," Rachel began with teeth gritted in annoyance, "You sprained it _after_ my show premiered?"

"Well yeah but…"

"The same show you promised me you'd come to on opening night?"

His face contorted guiltily, "About that Rach, I…"

"You were busy," she replied for him flatly.

"Well yeah, I…"

"It was great to see you Finn," she cut him off again, "but Noah and I really have to get going. My dads are expecting us." She latched on to Puck's arm and near dragged him and the trolley with their baggage along behind her. "You really should focus on improving your footwork you know, to prevent further injuries. It always was a flaw of yours." Puck's brows rose in surprise at her abrupt tone. "All the best with your ankle," she said to Finn in dismissal, not bothering to glance his way as she left.

"Rachel, wait!" Finn called, jogging a bit on his hurt foot to catch up to them. Taking pity on the guy, Puck used his weight to slow Rachel down. She shot him a dirty look that he casually shrugged away. So sue him. He was more than a little intrigued by how his little spit fire was reacting to his (though he'd rather get punched in the face than admit it, _especially_ now) football idol. "I…I'm really glad you're here," Finn sputtered, "I mean, not at the airport, but you know, in Lima. I'm sorry about the whole, you know, missing your show thing, but you know how it is with practice and games and stuff…Anyway, I thought maybe we could catch up…or something," he added, sensing the rejection clearly written on her face, "'Caus I know my mom and Burt were asking about you…"

Rachel's eyes narrowed, "You're not using Carole and Burt, two people who you know I care very deeply about as a way to manipulate me in what could potentially escalate into a very awkward situation are you?"

"I…uh…"

"Look Finn," Rachel began, her voice managing to be both consolatory and condescending, "Noah and I really do have somewhere to be. Kurt did want me to give your mom a new outfit he's just designed, as well as a copy of 'Skinny Bitch in the Kitch" for Burt to further help him embrace his new healthier lifestyle choices. Maybe my fathers, Noah and I could manage a visit sometime this week."

"I thought…you know…that maybe you and I could hang too. You know, just us two…like old times."

Rachel took a deep breath, "While I realize your sputtering out an invitation for us to 'hang' might actually be a well meant, albeit poorly executed way of creating a forum where we can open up dialogue to dredge up our sordid past, I also realize that it would create a very real possibility for fostering a situation where we might feel it necessary to revert back to our old, misguided and obsolete personas; me, the blazing ingénue and you, the charming quarterback. As much as those archetypes have guided our lives, I know now that what it took for me to truly grow as a stronger individual was the courage to break those preconceived notions I had for myself. Being with Noah has shown me that I no longer need to pour myself into a mold because breaking the mold is what has allowed me to shine. Plus," she added as an afterthought, "I'm mad at you."

Though, "Blah blah blah, _**being with Noah**_ blah blah _**has allowed me to shine**_," was all he had caught of her extensive tirade, Puck couldn't help but grin, "You're hot when you're pissed," he commented good naturedly, putting an arm around her shoulder.

As if only just now _really_ registering Puck's presence, Finn looked at him, clearly baffled, "—Wait, Rach, who is this guy? No offense dude, but I thought you were like her assistant or something."

Puck shrugged it off. Hell, if he saw some dude lugging around bright pink Louis Vuitton bags for some chick, he might think the same…or that the guy was a totally whipped pussy…_mostly_ that the guy was a totally whipped pussy. Aww hell! Finn Hudson thought he was a whipped pussy. He couldn't have that. "…I look like an assistant to you?" Puck demanded challengingly, just as Rachel cried, "You think I would randomly kiss an assistant?"

"Nah," Finn backtracked, "I just…I sorta thought maybe that was an accident or something…" Finn turned away, clearly wanting to avoid a confrontation, "Seriously," he addressed her as though Puck wasn't there right beside her, "this guy looks like a punk Rachel."

"Look Finn," she began pointedly, "This _guy_ is Noah Puckerman. He's my boyfriend." She gave Puck an adoring gaze just to prove a point, "I won't have you stereotyping him or judging him or insulting him. When you do that, not only are you insulting me, you're labeling yourself as someone who can't see beyond what society tells him to see. Noah's one of the most loyal people I have ever met. He's committed to family and tradition and respect. He's musically inclined and plays the guitar so well sometimes you just wanna cry when you hear him, and has really really toned biceps.

Puck smirked at Rachel's gushing. Yeah, it may have been pretend, but…well, it couldn't all be right? I mean, it was true; his muscles really were super toned.

"Just because you _accidentally_ made out with the Clasher's head cheerleader, which, ultimately resulted in you breaking off our engagement, doesn't mean others have the luxury of the extreme ignorance you seem to possess to make the same mistakes," Rachel continued, "Let me assure you that when I kiss boys, I do it deliberately," she shook her head at Finn in disappointment and moved her body closer to Noah's. "When I kiss Noah," she said so softly it was almost as though she was talking to herself, "it'll be on purpose."

Finn's eyes glinted at that, and he began to look at Puck more critically. "Why's his arm in a sling?" he demanded.

Seriously? Puck wondered why every douche that looked at him was always all up in his face about the stupid arm sling thing? "I beat the crap out of the last guy who looked at Berry funny…" Puck pronounced, "then his 300 hundred pound body guard came at me with a Louisville Slugger. I'm standing here. Mr. Body guard is in a full body cast at NYHQ." At Finn's lack of reaction, Puck added, "That's a hospital."

Finn sneered, "Oh yeah? Well, I have to deal with 300 pound line backers every day. I get _paid_ to do it, I'm that good."

"You wanna go?"

Finn gave a humorless laugh, "You can't take me man, not with a gimp arm,"

"Why don't I kick your gimped ankle and we call it even?"

The two men moved closer to each other menacingly, putting their fist(s) up, ready to give and dodge the inevitable blows.

"Enough!" Rachel exclaimed, "What did I say about violence? I distinctly remember having this conversation with the both of you on many separate occasions."

"Babe, just chill," Puck dismissed her, utterly focused on his opponent, "This is _man_ business right here."

"Noah…did you just say- ugh!" she sounded disgusted, "This is the most pathetic display of male posturing that I have ever witnessed. Here I am, still in the airport luggage terminal while my two gay dads are waiting for me at the arrival gate. Why don't you two _children_ conclude your _man_ business while I go home and contemplate what I would imagine to be a very content life with neither one of you in it?" She stomped her foot, and in typical Rachel Berry* fashion, stormed away grandly.

The two watched her leave, their mouths both hanging open from her resounding reprimand.

"God, she's like gunpowder man, totally blows my mind," Puck muttered, his eyes watching her beyond the gate, giving her fathers warm hugs. He was silent for a moment, and then he looked at Finn, his expression more curious than anything. Clearly the fight he'd only moments ago been aching to be a part of wasn't going to happen. "You made out with the Clasher's head cheerleader?" Puck asked.

"Yeah,"

There was a pause, "Isn't she like, a total bitch?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Finn sighed.

"Worth it?"

"Worth loosing Rachel over you mean?" Finn clarified.

Puck nodded.

"Nah. No man, no amount of crazy hot make-out sessions could ever trump being with Rachel...and I'm talking like, _crazy_ hot."

Puck grunted in acknowledgement of this. "You know that cheerleader—what's her name…"

"Santana Lopez," Finn supplied.

"Yeah…her…Santana. Thank her for me the next time you see her, will ya?" Puck requested.

"Dude, what are you talking about?"

"Tell her thanks…because your fuck up may have been the best thing that ever happened to me." With that, he pushed the trolley away leaving Finn's mouth hanging slightly agape as he pondered that last thought.


	6. Tiny Dancer

**A/N:** Tiny Dancer, Elton John...So, sorta filler, but I think it has some "awwww" moments so hopefully you enjoy :) Also, apologies for possible inaccurate use of ballet terminology...please just go with it...

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine

"Just so we're clear, you're upset because two very attractive, beyond hunky men decided they wanted to fight over you?"

She stilled her hand from doing its one hundred brush strokes to keep her thick dark hair smooth and silky. It was a process so ingrained in routine that she hadn't even realized she'd begun to do it when she answered her phone to Kurt's call. She frowned ever so slightly into her mirror. "Of course," she replied, though her voice now lacked the conviction that was in it when she first relayed the story to her friend. "It was completely childish and unnecessary. I mean, who gets into a fight at the airport? They're only lucky there were no paparazzi around to blow the story even more out of proportion."

"So, the thought of both of them battling for your honor in a testosterone fueled haze does nothin' for ya?" Kurt asked again, his voice full of skepticism, "nothing at all?"

"Well…I…" she sputtered, finally allowing herself for a moment to visualize how it might have played out. Her cheeks grew warm at the thought. "Well it shouldn't…" she finally muttered crossly.

"Thank god!" Kurt exclaimed, "For a second there I thought maybe you were a sexless robot masquerading as a tolerably attractive dwarf."

"Hey!" she protested, "Need I remind you that I was engaged to Finn Hudson. Finn Hudson! How many tolerably attractive dwarves can tell you that?" she demanded with triumph.

"Only one," he replied cattily, "she's the same one who's running around Ohio with a fake boyfriend."

"Touché," Rachel replied softly. She placed her brush on her dresser and abandoned the idea of primping herself up altogether. Suddenly she had no desire to look at herself in the mirror at all.

"Well you don't have to sound so depressed about it B," Kurt attempted to rally her spirits, "It's easy. All you have to do is let loose a little!" he commanded. "Stop being so anally retentive all the time. Being Type A only gets you so far, and it _never_ gets you laid."

"Kurt!" she exclaimed, aghast.

"I'm just saying B, that you're always talking about seeking out opportunities…although, in your case, you tend to grab opportunities, suck them dry and have them follow you around like your little zombie minions."

Rachel let out a sharp breath. "Is there a point to this that I'm missing?"

"You have a gorgeous man in your home. A gorgeous, and from what I hear, very experienced, _wink wink_, man in your home. There's nothing wrong with having a little fun now and again."

"Kurt, that's…that's not what this whole charade was meant to be about okay? I didn't do this just to…just to have _sex_," she hissed from embarrassment.

"Look Rach, I love you. You're my best friend, which means I can be brutally honest with you and not have to worry about any repercussions. Actually," Kurt began again, "On second thought, the reason why I'm not scared of retaliation is because I'm in New York and you're literally _Lost in Middle America._" There was clearly a smile behind his voice despite the measured ounce of disgust he'd put into it.

"You realize I'll be back in a week or so and I have a memory that is virtually…well…almost photographic?"

"_Almost_ being the key phrase," Kurt returned dryly, "Remind me to meet you at the airport with a bottle of pink champagne. You'll forget this entire conversation ever happened."

"I highly doubt that," she replied with a sort of snarky disbelief.

"That's because we never talk about sex. Well…your sex life anyway," he amended, "Oh, wait…that's because it's nonexistent,"

Rachel gasped in outrage. "Was that really called for?"

He gave a small laugh. "You know it's true," he insisted. His next words were in earnest however, the joking all aside, "Rachel Barbara Berry with her one track mind, whose only goal in life was to be a star, who never took a risk in her life that wasn't calculated except when she fell for my gorgeous but incredibly clueless stepbrother…B, sweetie you need to move on."

"Kurt, do I need to explain again that Noah and I aren't…" she sputtered, "I mean, we're not…you know…"

"Rach, maybe Puck is that guy…or maybe he isn't…" Kurt clarified, "all I know is, you have to take a risk sometime. Why not now?"

Rachel was uncharacteristically silent.

"Did I actually get through to you?" Kurt wondered aloud in amazement.

She bit her bottom lip, "I…" she sounded alarmingly remorseful, "Maybe I shouldn't have left him alone downstairs…"

**(Glee!)**

In the grand scheme of uncomfortable things he'd had to endure in his life, this had to make the top five. In no particular order they were as follows, the night some punk ass football players locked him in a smelly, tipped over porta-potty for 24 hours, looking at Quinn's va-jay as Beth's head was crowning (that thought never failed to make him turn slightly green), being caught hiding in Mrs. Capote's bedroom closet…by Mr. Capote, having to scrub the men's bathroom tile with a toothbrush (sometimes he woke up in cold sweats when he dreamed about his brief stint in juvie), and this…sitting awkwardly on his fake girlfriend's couch while her _**two**_ dads eyed him critically.

"Rachel tells us you have a daughter."

"Uh, yes sir," he responded. At first he thought he was gonna have it rough with the physically intimidating, scary-muscular African American who Rach called 'Dad.' He was _nothing _compared to the freakishly smart, short, techy white dude with glasses. Apparently that guy was 'Daddy.' Puck was royally screwed.

Puck cleared his throat. So 'Daddy' wanted to talk about Beth…well _that_ he could do. "She's turning 10 this year," he began, "She's like a frickin' weed, getting so tall all the time. I swear she's gonna grow up to be a giant or something. She's like crazy smart at math…nothing like her old man. She really understands concepts and stuff…knows how to use numbers in the real world, but hey, she's part Jew right?"

'Daddy' let out a startled snort at that comment, encouraging Puck to continue.

Puck carried on gushing (shut up…this was his kid they were talking about…of course she was awesome.) "Beth loves music. She's learning to play the guitar. I was teaching her at first, but then…" he trailed off. But then Quinn decided that she didn't want him around the house anymore…that Beth ought to get a 'real' teacher instead of her loser dad who learned how to play by teaching himself. He didn't dwell too long on that thought. "She dances too," he continued instead, "Ballet. She's uh...well she tries real hard at it, you know?" She had two left feet. Yeah…so he knew that. Didn't give the stupid kids in her class the right to make her go home crying that day he picked her up from the dance studio. They all sucked anyway. Damn punk kids.

"Our Rachel was a ballerina," Dad commented. "She'll never admit this," he said slyly turning to Puck as though he was in on the conspiracy, "but she wasn't always as graceful as she'd like everyone to believe. You remember Ezra?"

"…blamed her pointe shoes at first," Daddy remarked, "and we very nearly believed her." He looked directly at Noah, "You know how convincing she can be when she puts her mind to it," he said.

Puck shifted in his chair uncomfortably but apparently imperceptibly, because Daddy seemed content with the steadiness of his gaze.

"Not the shoes at all," Dad chuckled, "…just our tiny dancer tripping all over herself. She couldn't even attempt chaines without landing on her poor little nose. And ciseaux? Not even an option!"

Puck nodded of course…he had no idea in hell what the guy was talking about, but made a mental note to see if _nose guards_ existed, and where he could pick one up for his girl.

"Naturally we knew all she had to do was practice. All kids go through their awkward phase," Daddy proclaimed knowingly. "Has Rachel shown you the stage we had made for her in the basement yet?"

Of _course_ Berry had a stage in her house.

"Uh, nope," Puck replied. Because come on, they got here like an hour ago…and she immediately abandoned him for no reason…for a dumb reason…because he did something dumb.

"She worked so hard. Practiced like a little trooper. She finally got rid of her moniker…Tubby Toes. Of course kids can be cruel, can't they?"

"_Puker_man," Puck said softly, "That's what the kids said to get her so pissed she started to cry. I had to promise to build her a tree house," he confessed.

"Makes you want to spank the little buggers, doesn't it?"

Puck's brow rose in surprise at the shared understanding of having a protective streak when it came to defending their daughters. "Yeah," he nodded. "But most people frown on adults smacking down 10 year olds."

Daddy's eyes twinkled, "Too bad for us fathers…"

"Yeah," Puck chuckled, "Too bad…"

"Well, when Beth comes to visit we absolutely expect her to give us a performance," Dad remarked, "We thrive on performances in the Berry household…Rachel is probably the best testament to that statement," he winked.

"Yeah, totally," Puck agreed, "Beth really likes putting on her shows. With or without an audience." He smirked, thinking about all the times he'd catch her hopping around, pulling out the dance moves or humming to herself when she thought no one was looking. Then he thought about all the times she'd give him a bright smile and demand in her bad-ass little voice, '_Dad_-dy! Look at me! Are ya watchin'?'

"Sounds like another little girl I knew once upon a time," Daddy smiled, "And look where _she _ended up…"

Puck grinned in response to that. For some reason he totally dug the fact that they were finding similarities between his kid and Rach…caus Rach was a pretty cool chick when she wasn't being crazy. Suddenly, Puck had visions of Rach and his kid hanging out, dancing and singing and stuff, and yeah, he would be down for that. He found himself agreeing with the Berry dads. "Yeah. You know, I think visiting Ohio would be good for Beth. She's never been away from New York before. All that concrete and city stuff… I don't think she's ever seen grass, unless it's out of a Chia Pet's butt," he joked.

Remarkably, Dad and Daddy chuckled.

There was a distinctly feminine tone to the sound of someone clearing their throat at the entrance way to the living room. Around these parts, that could only mean one person.

"Oh, hey babe," Puck glanced at Rachel, her brown eyes wide and startled. He shrugged. Why'd she look so shell shocked?

She took a deep, steadying breath and smiled. "Hello Noah," she greeted, "I'm sorry," she walked towards him, sat down beside him, and held his hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world to do. She didn't even realize she'd done it at first, and when she finally did, she noted that it would have been too obvious to let go while her father's inquisitive eyes were on them. She addressed her fathers, both of whom were sitting across from them, "I had to take a shower to get the grime off of me," she explained, "Airplanes harbor infections you know, on account of the fact that they're enclosed spaces and you can never really vouch for the efficacy of the air filtration systems."

"We were just talking about Beth coming to visit Princess," her Dad remarked, completely brushing aside her comment as the mindless, albeit impassioned rambling on as it was. He was clearly used to her random tirades.

"Oh," she replied dumbly.

"What do you think about next month? Even if it's only for the weekend."

"The teachers have one of those professional development days coming up," Noah replied, "I'm sure I could work something out with Quinn."

"Then it's settled," Daddy grinned.

"Yes sir," Noah responded, "That sounds great."

"Princess, what's wrong?" her Dad asked. She'd grown suddenly pale. Her mouth was opening and closing like a fish underwater, and, oddly enough, there was no sound blasting out of her mouth adding her two cents' worth to the conversation.

What was wrong? Seriously? Rachel could write a page long list of what was wrong with this picture. It all felt a bit too authentic…the warmth of Noah's hand in hers while they chatted about the future with her fathers.

"I think I need some air."

"Rach…you okay?" Concerned, Noah let go of her hand to gently cup the side of her face. Maybe she was getting a fever or something?

She was unable to school the brief, horrified look of confusion she shot at him before she recovered, turning her face away to brush off his touch. "Noah and I are going for a walk," she announced to no one in particular. With that, she stood up abruptly and headed toward the front door.

Noah stood up slowly, following her lead and shrugging in apology to her fathers. They didn't seem fazed at all by this, looking at the fleeing silhouette of their daughter indulgently. Apparently storming out was also a norm in the Berry household. He should have known.


	7. Iris

**A/N: **It's been AGES since I've posted anything on here! But yesterday I got something completely inspiring...a comment! Thank you "gift of the gabz" for reminding me how much fun it was to read and write fan fiction. And thank you Glee for starting off Season 4 well. I have to admit that I stopped writing because frankly, I thought Glee had become a confusing mishmash of garbled up story lines and special guests stars. Season 3 quite simply uninspired me. While I watched the song and dance numbers, I neither knew nor cared what was going on with the characters. I have high hopes for this season, and yes, I have high hopes for Marley and Jake who seem to suspiciously mimic another couple I happen to heart. (Come on! Poignant bleacher scene?)

This chapter is called "Iris" because there is a very small reference to the song by the Goo Goo Dolls. I started this chapter a year or so ago. I think I was in an angsty mood or something... I have already started on the chapter after this, but I confess, I'm finding it a bit difficult to get the Rachel/Puck voices and dynamic back in my head. I promise the next chapter soon, but I fear I may have to watch some Glee Season 1 DVDs to get my groove back. I now have every intention to finish this story because...well...if they didn't get their happy ending in TV Glee-land, they certainly deserve the happy ending I've made for them in my head.

**Disclaimer:** Nope...not mine. Because if they were, Puck and Rachel would be together in New York.

For a midget she sure could walk fast. She was ahead near half a block. Puck found himself jogging to catch up to her. Frustrated because she showed no signs of slowing down and he had no idea where the fuck she was going, he called out (mostly because he knew it would throw her off), "Wait up Tubby Toes!"

In the next moment he found himself holding her shoulders steady from behind before she toppled over. He'd slammed right into her not realizing that she'd frozen in place when she heard him holler.

God, he thought to himself as he got a nice long whiff of her fruity scent, she smelled really really good. So yeah, he respected her (was a little scared of her) and since their whole _relationship_ thing was fake and stuff, they (she) had made some pretty clear rules and boundaries. She'd legit pulled out a ruler once to demonstrate what 10 inches of personal space looked like. Despite all that, he couldn't resist the urge to lean in closer, because, _hello_, true fact… she was one hot Jew.

"_What_ did you just call me?" Rachel's voice was alarmingly shrill…partially from realizing she'd very nearly taken a nose dive straight into the pavement and partly (mostly) because _no one_ called her Tubby Toes. She jerked away from his touch, solidly whacking her temple against his jaw as she twisted around to face him. Thwack!

"Ow!" Puck complained rubbing the side of his face tenderly.

"Ugh!" she winced, placing her palm firmly against the throbbing on her forehead. She glared. "What were you doing?" she demanded.

"Sniffing your hair," he responded with a lazy grin…'caus really, why lie?

He was doing_ what_? He eyes bugged out of her face in surprise. "Well…" she stammered, "Well stop doing it!" she commanded, taking several steps back all the while, making her attack on him look suspiciously more like a retreat.

"I have," Puck shrugged, "You're too far away for me to do it now."

His face held that expression that (he knew) infuriated her…half smile, half indecent leer. At that moment, Rachel, self-proclaimed pacifist, seriously contemplated the pros and cons of smacking away his offensive expression. "Can you just be serious for once?" Rachel cried, "I just need a second where you're not being a complete ass, or overtly hitting on me, or starting a fist fight, or planning future events with my fathers, or…" she sputtered, "or lying."

"Whoa there," Puck exclaimed, putting his hands in front of himself in defense, "Put your claws away kitty. You're one to talk," Puck pointed out, "You started this whole damn thing."

She shot him a venomous glare and huffed, "Forget it," she said dismissively as she began walking back toward the direction of the house.

"Babe," Puck started coaxingly, trailing after her, "Come on…"

"Just stop," she snapped, "I should have known it would all end. I just didn't think it would be so soon," Rachel muttered crossly.

There was a beat of silence between them.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Puck demanded, his defenses rising, temper starting to boil.

"Clearly this isn't working. We barely speak the same language," she complained, "This is all so easy for you, isn't it? You have no concept of how this is entire charade is affecting me do you? " she asked bitterly. "I'm lying, manipulating people I love. My moral compass is flailing so much it's making me dizzy."

"We're both in this fucked up mess together Rachel," Puck reminded her bluntly, all pretense of patience gone, "Don't forget that."

"Yes, but I'm in this mess because of a terrible twist of fate and an overzealous stalker. I don't belong here. I don't deserve to feel this way," she moaned, "Pathetic and hopeless."

"Pathetic?" he spat.

"…and hopeless"

"So I couldn't possibly understand how you feel, is that it? Because really, _you're _the victim here."

"Exactly," Rachel agreed, "You project this image of yourself every day. You're so cavalier about everything anyway. It's like lying goes hand in hand with your charm. Even completely entrenched in this amazingly twisted situation, you must feel right at home."

"That was a bitchy thing to say," Puck remarked, his eyes flashing dark, "Just caus you have a fancy piece of paper from some college that says you're smart, or own a fugly hunk of metal that proves you're talented, doesn't mean you get to act all high and mighty."

"I hope you realize you're speaking out of turn," she whispered, more hurt than she cared to reveal while he continued on his impassioned tirade.

"Maybe you think you have the right to talk down to me because there are two pretty awesome guys a few blocks over that told you through your whole life that you could do anything you damn well pleased."

"I…"

"Well lucky you," he remarked wryly, "But I didn't have that Rachel. None of that shit."

"Noah…I didn't mean…"

"There's a nasty fucking scar on my belly. That was the day I learned to stay away from bastard drunk ass father and his broken bottles of beer." Unconsciously he moved his hand to his side as if to hide the area where the scar surely was.

"I… I'm so sorry…" Rachel's voice caught, not really sure how to react to his unlikely display of vulnerability. She reached out, lightly placing her hand over his.

He ignored her, seemingly lost in his own memories, but he was well aware of the warmth coming from her gentle touch. He couldn't bring himself to shrug it off. "My two months in juvie? That's where I learned I wasn't the bad-ass I pretended to be. I was just some punk kid, pissing in my pants scared."

"I didn't know. Noah, I had no idea."

"So yeah, I can lie. I can throw a punch. Maybe I flirt with anything that has a decent rack that smiles up at me, because you can bet that's the only way anyone ever gives me the time of day."

"That's not true," Rachel denied vehemently.

Noah shook his head. "You wanna know the worst thing?" he asked coldly, "Getting a chick pregnant at 16 and having her talk down to me in front of my own kid." His voice turned hoarse from emotion, "That's where I learned how much of a fucking loser I am…" he let that statement thicken the air. "So you don't have to tell me Rachel, that I make you feel pathetic and dirty and hopeless. I already know."

"Noah...I…you're not. I shouldn't have said what I did. I wasn't thinking. I was being intentionally cruel and…" Rachel shook her head, finally realizing how horrible she'd been.

Puck took a step away from her, breaking the contact between them. "You can say whatever the hell you want," he shrugged, his voice back to its regular cavalier nonchalance, "Free country babe."

"Please don't do that," Rachel begged.

"Do what?" he asked his eyes wagging suggestively.

But Rachel wasn't playing…not after what he'd just shared. "This," she clarified, "Pretending that you don't care…telling me those things about yourself, then...this façade you put on, it's like you're hiding form the world."

"Forget it," he replied, repeating the words she'd spoken…the ones that had triggered the whole mess to begin with, "it doesn't matter."

"It does," she insisted. "Because you matter Noah. In spite of all that's happened in your life, or maybe even because if all that's happened in your life you've turned out the way you have."

"Fucked up?"

Rachel tilted her head in serious contemplation, "Beautifully broken," she concluded.

He scoffed.

"I mean it," she insisted, "It's…" she took a deep breath, "thank you for telling me, for trusting me with that."

"It's who I am."

Rachel nodded. "I know. What I said before Noah…I was stupid"

"It's fine."

"And mean, and insensitive. Because I say things sometimes when I…I freak out sometimes and…"

"It's fine." He repeated.

"It's not," Rachel insisted, "The way you are, I…I didn't understand. I made judgments that I shouldn't have."

"I didn't mean it when I called you a bitch," he looked intently, as though trying to make her understand with his adamant expression, "I was pissed okay? You don't have to forgive me or anything. I was out of line." He closed his eyes, and when they opened they held a look of grim determination, "Look, I'll leave. Tonight. We'll tell your dads something came up and I had to leave."

"There's no other flight out to New York tonight," she whispered.

"I'll stay at a hotel," Puck said firmly. "This will all be over for you tonight. We knew it would be over sooner or later. I'm sorry I messed up. I'll stay away. You won't have to see me again." He paused, "For what it's worth, it's been an awesome few weeks. I hope you find what you're looking for Rachel. You deserve to be happy." He turned to leave.

"No. Wait," she called instinctively.

Puck hesitated before looking back. Her face was strained, as though trying to hold back tears.

"I was scared. I…I get crazy when I get scared. I don't think. I just act, and it never turns out well."

"What were you scared of for god's sakes?" he asked bewildered.

Her eyes were wide like saucers, and her voice came out meek, "When you talking to my dads about Beth coming to visit…were you serious? Was it part of the game?"

"I meant it," he replied, voice firm and steady.

"You did?" she whispered.

"Yeah. I was serious."

"I'm so sorry," Rachel bit her lower lip, "I'm confused. I don't know where this game stops and ends. And it has every potential to end badly." Her voice shook involuntarily, "And I don't just mean getting caught…" her voice trailed off and her cheeks grew red.

His hand reached out to cup the side of her face before she could turn away. Intense hazel met cautious brown. He looked at her expectantly as if knowing instinctively that she had something more to say.

"I…" she sputtered, "I sometimes…I just want things too much sometimes." She moistened her lips nervously. "I think that's what this was really all about. I shouldn't want things, but I do. Does…" she hesitated, "does that make sense?"

"I like you," he said simply, full of conviction. "I have no idea what in the hell you're talking about…but I like you."

She gave a small laugh at his bluntness. "People who say they like me usually end up leaving me," she said quietly after a moment.

"I won't," he vowed. "You know," he continued a second later, "No one's ever told me they like me."

"I like you," she replied solemnly.

Puck smiled.

She looked into his eyes and hesitated before she spoke again, "Noah…can…can we be friends?" She shook her head in embarrassment, "God, I sound like I'm five," she muttered self depreciatingly. "I'm a self-serving drama queen who's a giant, tangled mess of insecurities," she warned, "I talk in rants, I very often hit below the belt, I use conceit to bolster my ego and I have a tendency to scold people out of turn."

"I think I can manage that," he grinned. "People have called me a punk my whole life that I sometimes purposely act like one…the whole slippery slope thing or whatever. I curse. I tell everyone I broke my arm because I got into a fight, when really it's caus I fell from a ten foot ladder when I was trying to build my baby girl a tree house. I say it caus falling off a ladder isn't very bad ass."

Rachel's eyes lit in amusement.

"I'm a mess. My life's been hell, but I'm pretty sure being with you is the closest to heaven I'll ever get. Will you be my friend Berry?"

She gave him a blinding smile. "Yes."

"Berry?"

"Yes?"

"I don't wanna go home tonight."

"Then stay."


	8. Hungry Eyes

**A/N:** Thank you so much to those people who in the last few days have wanted to follow my story, and/or have added my story as a one of their favourites. It's definitely a humbling honor, and I hope this next chapter (fluffy as it may be) meets your expectations. To "Blahtoyousir", "kissa621", "KRiSTiNEDAHLiNG", "Guest", "downwivluv", and of course, "gift of the gabz" (hope you're finally free of that pesky essay ;) I wanted to let you know that your comments have been so inspiring. I blame you all for the dorky grin on my face when I look at my inbox and it says I have a new review :)

**Disclaimer:** So I have this fear that by adding some actual song lyrics, that I might distract from the actual story. It's the first time I've done it, and I hope it's okay...Reference to Dirty Dancing and the song Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen. Also...I don't own Glee.

"I am so sorry!" Rachel cried in mortification. She covered her face with her hands, feeling her cheeks heat up. _Great_, she inwardly moaned, as if things weren't completely horrifying enough, now she would have to deal the situation looking blotchy and red. There was really no graceful way of saying "Excuse me, but do you mind postponing this amazingly discomfiting conversation until after I've splashed my face with some icy water and put on some cover up?" Or, option two which she much preferred: She could curl up into a ball and disappear. It certainly didn't help that Noah looked more bemused than upset by the whole thing. Really, could he not have the decency to at least _pretend_ he was uncomfortable with the latest "universe hates Rachel" ploy? To make matters worse, the sick, artistic part of her was doing a little happy jig at her expense. What was it her acting teacher at NYADA always said? "Absurd personal circumstances are the breeding ground for carefully crafted motivation," which was all fine and dandy when projecting emotion on stage. At present however, the fact of the matter was…

"We gotta share the bed."

Rachel nodded grimly and bit her lower lip tensely while reading his expression to gauge his reaction. It really was extremely horrifying to know her fathers knew she and Noah were having sex…not that they were having sex, but that, (hypothetically speaking) were she and Noah _actually_ dating, that they would _actually_ be having sex. She shuddered at the memory of her Daddy giving her a not-so-subtle wink and a thumbs-up sign when he thought Noah wasn't looking. Noah had, of course been looking.

When she thought about it, really, it was Noah's fault they were in this particular bind. If he hadn't been so charmingly authentic, if her fathers had caught onto the fact that their relationship was somehow contrived, they would never have given their blessing so completely. Lord knew it took forever for them to warm up to Finn…and even then…

"Shotgun the left side," Puck called as he plunked down his duffel bag and casually walked into the bathroom, closing it with a resounding click.

Rachel's face wrinkled in confusion as she stared levelly at the closed door. His reaction hadn't quite been up to par with what she'd been expecting. Did nothing faze that man? She took a quick inventory of the things she'd exposed (tortured) him with that day alone.

1. Her teeny, tiny, to the point of being negligible, fear of being found out (although honestly, he probably hadn't even noticed…)

2. Kissing him to prove a point to Finn (although she was an excellent kisser…Finn and all her co-stars always said so…maybe there was a possibility that he hadn't minded the kiss quite so much?)

3. Leaving him alone to deal with her fathers' inquest (arguably well-deserved, and eventually backfired on her anyway…)

4. Unfairly judging him (she winced…only hours after she'd gone off on Finn about stereotyping…she still had lingering feelings of shame around that one…)

5. Dinner theatre with costumes. Songs from Les Mis (perhaps not the best way to have initiated him into their family routine)

6. Seeing her Daddy give her the wink and thumbs up to "Have safe fun" while closing the bedroom door behind him. And to clear matters up, maybe she had lied when she'd first met him…because her room was sound proof…the fact of which her fathers were aware…for more reasons than one.

Taking it all into a broader perspective, she counted her lucky stars that the man she'd chosen to play this little game with her was up to the challenge.

Suddenly, bathroom door opened up, breaking Rachel's momentary trance. Noah peeked his head into her room. "Well that was rude of me," he remarked.

Rachel gave him a questioning look.

"I forgot to ask if we had to share a shower too," he said, wiggling his brows lasciviously.

Rachel's eyes narrowed into slits.

Puck slammed the door shut quickly, but not before one of Rachel's stuffed animals hit him squarely in the face.

**(GLEE!)**

Puck hummed (loudly) to himself while showering…something he only did when he was in a good mood. Because despite the fact that his day was completely messed up…it was actually (surprisingly) way up there on his list of really good days.

A. He got to spend almost 4 hours (plane _and_ taxi, thank you very much!) sitting beside a hot chick

B. He made out with said hot chick

C. Both hot chick's dads totally dug him

D. He had an awesome new place to take Beth for the weekend

E. He was given daddy's (X2!) blessing to sleep (_just_ sleep…he reminded himself with a small frown) with hot chick

and F. The hot chick was Rachel

So yeah…pretty sweet day actually.

Puck turned off the tap and climbed out of the shower. He wiped the mirror free of foggy, steamy build up and winced as he touched his face, wondering if the reddened spot would leave a bruise in the morning. Rachel's wicked ninja reflexes and aim had smacked her stuffed rabbit's nose right against his forehead. The stupid thing had a plastic button nose. He was pretty sure he had a fucking imprint of a button on his head. That sucked. Though he supposed if _that_ was what he'd consider the crappiest part of his day, it was really sayin' somethin'.

Not wanting to get whacked (er…hit) in the face again, he decided to give her a warning yell. "Berry, I'm coming out of the bathroom."

"Okay," she called back.

Then he figured he should be a bit more descriptive, just to make sure…"I only have a towel on!"

He was met with silence. It kinda freaked him out, caus' let's face it-the chick had an answer for everything. Maybe she hadn't heard him?

"Rach?" he called again.

"Yes?" she answered meekly, "Right…" he heard her clear her throat, "Right Noah…because you left your bag out here, so you must not have any um…you're probably not wearing any…"

He grinned mischievously. So maybe he'd awkwarded her out a little. And maybe, he'd sorta, kinda done it on purpose to get a reaction outta her. Too much too soon?

When Rachel continued to remain silent behind the door, he frowned. Maybe it was a dick (pardon the pun) move on his part. Because what kinda sicko thought it would be funny to make a perfectly sweet (shut-up!) girl uncomfortable (other than himself)? What could he say to make her feel better? Think Puckerman! "Um…it's all good Berry. The towel's covering my man parts," was apparently the best he could come up with off the top of his head.

"Oh…okay," she mumbled.

Puck rolled his eyes at himself. _Complete idiot._

He opened the bathroom door slowly, giving her ample time to turn away (if she wanted to). He had a genuine smile on his face as he saw her facing the complete opposite direction, her back looking uncomfortably straight and her chin tilted slightly upwards.

"Noah, I would like to request that in the future you…I mean me…both of us bring a change of clothing into the bathroom with us. You know…" she sputtered, belying her bravado, "for convenience's sake."

"Riiiggght," Puck responded teasingly. "For convenience."

He saw her unwittingly clench her little fists in annoyance.

"Yes. For convenience." She replied tartly.

"K," he shrugged.

"Oh," Rachel remarked, relived at his quick compliance, "Well okay then."

"You can turn around now," Puck smirked knowingly, "I'm decent…ish"

Rachel grimaced. He couldn't possibly know that she'd been picturing him walking out of the bathroom in only a towel, beads of water glistening down his abs…because she'd seen his abs, and quite frankly, they were gushworthingly amazing. All in all, dressed in a black wife beater and grey boxers, ready for sleep, he was still pretty…well…pretty to look at. Oh god, was she salivating a little? She quickly swiped the side of her mouth with the back of her hand just to make sure.

Thank goodness his attention had been drawn elsewhere. "Whatcha doing?" he asked, pointing to her laptop screen.

"Research," she said with a shy smile as she looked up at him with her big brown peepers, and damn it if he couldn't help but smile back at her like a complete nerd.

"What kinda research?"

"Dirty Dancing."

Puck's brow rose.

"The musical." Rachel clarified with a laugh, "I always like keeping my options open, and auditioning is always a really rewarding learning experience. Anyway, they're doing a casting workshop for a touring ensemble for Dirty Dancing the Musical when we get back to New York, and I thought it might be fun to try out."

"You thinkin' about leaving the Big Apple?" Puck asked with some surprise. Wasn't New York like, the Promised Land for people who were all musical-ey?

Rachel replied quickly, "Don't get me wrong. I love New York, but with West Side Story and A Chorus Line and Anger…I haven't really gotten a chance to travel around the country you know? And I thought…this might be an opportunity to have the best of both worlds. I mean...once Anger's finished up, obviously." She looked up at him expectantly, "What do you think?"

He didn't answer her, instead opting to heave her up from her sitting position on the bed, and onto her feet in a playfully abrupt manner.

"Hey," she protested, though intrigued.

Puck grabbed her right hand firmly in his, and placed her left hand on his shoulder. He cleared his throat and made himself sound stern and instructive. He began moving them back and forth. "Lock your frame," he directed, "Look, spaghetti arms,"

Rachel's eyes widened in awe, "No way!" she exclaimed gleefully in amused surprise, "You realize this proves that you've not only seen Dirty Dancing, but that you've seen it enough times to memorize lines!"

He grinned and shrugged, "Chicks dig Swayze. True fact. Now come on. Let's do this."

Still bemused, Rachel attempted to get into character and hone in on her inner _Baby Houseman_, even throwing in some deliberately poor dancing technique just to get into the spirit of the game. She accidentally let a giggle out, and then held her hand over her mouth in atonement.

Despite the slip, his face remained impassive and he motioned with his hands, "This is my dance space, and this is your dance space. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine. You gotta hold the frame."

Rachel nodded, getting into character now. In her mind she thought, Penny is in trouble and I need to learn this dance to help her. "One, two, three…" Noah continued, and began swaying them in a smooth rhythm. Soon enough, he began to sing…softly at first…

_I've been meaning to tell you,  
I've got this feeling that won't subside_

And then…and then the weirdest thing happened, because as they moved to the sound of his voice, enticingly deep with a hint of sexy scratchiness, he started to look at her with an intense gaze that Rachel couldn't quite interpret.  
_  
__I look at you and I fantasize,  
You're mine tonight  
__Now I've got you in my sights_

She looked back at him, feeling a tensing, coiling sensation in the pit of her stomach, not entirely unwelcome.

_With these hungry eyes  
__One look at you and I can't disguise_

And they kept moving, and he kept singing to her, and she felt something akin to tipsiness at the thought of their bodies being so close, at his hand, warm against her waist. Unconsciously she moistened her lips.

_I've got hungry eyes  
__I feel the magic between you and I_

Puck followed her gesture intently, eyes never leaving her now glistening lower lip. Suddenly, Puck halted all movement and took in a shaky breath. Holding both her shoulders, he gave her a gentle but deliberate push away.

Rachel shook her head as if to clear it. She shot him a look that was half confusion, half disappointment and tilted her head to the side, waiting for him to explain.

"It's late," he murmured.

"It is," she agreed.

"You should get ready to go to sleep," he said slowly, as though he had carefully deliberated his word choices before saying them out loud...not something he normally bothered with.

"Okay," she nodded robotically.

"You should use the bathroom, and I should go to sleep," he replied in a panicky rush…because he felt annoyingly, stupidly inexplicably anxious at the prospect of remaining in an enclosed room with Rachel. He was a little short of breath, like his brain had momentarily forgotten his need for oxygen. God...even knowing that once she went to the bathroom he could have some distance, he thought the measly door between them was hardly escape enough from her.

Puck wasn't (a complete) idiot, and after mere seconds of deliberation he was able to gain some insight into what the possible reason was for his current outburst (complete freak out) He felt himself blanch a little. Well obviously. It was bound to happen right? It was only natural. They were two good-looking Jews afterall...Yes, he was well aware his current behaviour was earning him some bad-ass demerits. (shut-up!) he just couldn't help but...brown doe eyes. Damn it! Distracted again! He blamed this on the midget. One hundred percent.

Rachel blinked rapidly and noted that Noah looked decidedly "fazed" Interesting. Without another word, she grabbed a towel and her treble clef pajamas and went to the bathroom.

When she returned, Noah was asleep, tangled in a blanket, her stuffed animals doubling as his pillows. Rachel frowned. That really couldn't be very comfortable…especially since he'd fallen asleep on the floor.


End file.
